


Glory

by monimala



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monimala/pseuds/monimala
Summary: They talk for hours. About everything and nothing. About his day. Hers.





	

She calls him the night before they win the Pennant. The night before the first game in the Series, too. They talk for hours. About everything and nothing. About his day. Hers. Family. Friends. _“How’s the pain today?” “Manageable.” “Are you happy?” “Fucking delirious.” “How’s Jackie?” “Beautiful. Like her mom.” “You’re such a sap, Old Man.” “You know it, Rookie.”_

Mike has no regrets about how his life turned out. About retiring and getting married and settling down. It had to happen sometime. He’s just amazed he pushed it till almost 38. Probably out of a burning desire to keep playing with Ginny, to keep catching her screwballs. For a while there, it outweighed the burning in his torn ligaments and wrecked cartilage. And then it didn’t. And he had to limp off the field to the deafening sound of a full Petco Park cheering his name one last time.

He’s managed not to become one of those guys who hunches over a pint of beer and moans about his glory days. Because he gets to watch Ginny smack in the middle of hers. Five trips to the All-Stars. Two MVPs. Three championship rings. And _his_ ring. A gold band she wears on a chain around her neck at every game.

“ _You gonna say yes or what, Rookie? Don’t leave me hanging.”_ And she hasn’t. Not yet.

 She took off a season and a half to have the baby and stay with her those first few months. That was something. It opened up a whole conversation about parental leave in sports. “Trust you, Ginny Baker, to make _everything_ a headline,” he’d teased, pressing his lips to the gentle curve of her belly...her only gentle curve. “Ginny Lawson,” she’d reminded. “And I can still beat your sorry old ass in the gym.”

That’s not much of an accomplishment these days, given his artificial knees and the treadmill he’s been instructed to use at a snail’s pace. But he doesn’t need any more accomplishments now. He’s got his column, his guest commentator gigs...and their daughter, of course, who’s the biggest and best gift he’s ever gotten. No championship rings compare to her skinny arms around his neck and her laughing, “Papa, your beard tickles!”

She decided all on her own to call him “Papa,” and not “Daddy.” He’s never been able to argue with a woman who knows her own mind. And he doesn’t mind being a stay-at-home dad. Jackie’s still little enough to need tuck-ins and kisses and stories. He combs out her curls and does up her puffs and they play Barbies and talk about what happened that day in kindergarten. There isn’t a spot of baseball paraphernalia in her room. She can be a princess or a pitcher, but the choice will be hers and hers alone.

“Jackie?” the press always asks. “For Robinson, huh?” He looks at Ginny. She looks at him. “Kennedy,” he corrects, as she chirps, “Mason.” Even though Jackie Mason was way before his time and, therefore, way, WAY before hers. And they laugh as the reporter fumbles and apologizes and looks to the next question on their list.

He still remembers the first time he kissed her. He can’t smell chalk or fresh-cut grass without thinking of pressing her up against the batting cage after dark, horsing around and laughing at some dumb joke...and then not laughing anymore. Just staring down at her big, brown eyes and wondering what had taken him so damn long to see the truth in them. They loved each other. Of course they loved each other. And they still do.

“Give ‘em hell, Kid,” he murmurs into the shared silence.

“I wish you were here,” she tells him, and he knows she’s curled up on her side, the phone cradled between her ear and the pillow.

“I am. I always am.” And he’ll be in the stands tomorrow. Two seats right behind home plate are always on reserve for him and Jackie. He just has to pick her up from A.M. kindergarten and hustle to the airport. _“Don’t speed, Papa. Speeding is bad.” “Unless you’re throwing a speedball.” “What’s that?” “Ask me in five years.”_

In five years, or nine or 10. When Ginny’s in her phase two and he’s writing a memoir about the wonderful lives they’ve led. Then, maybe, he’ll teach their daughter about baseball. He’s already started teaching her about following her dreams...about looking to her mom for an example.

“ _My teacher says Mommy’s a hero.”_

“ _Mommy’s just a person...but she’s_ my _hero.”_

Mike keeps the line open long after Ginny’s gone silent. He listens to her fall asleep, the familiar rhythm of her regular breaths a sound he knows as well as a ball striking a glove. She’s the best pitch he ever caught. The best person’s he’s ever known. His best friend. His teammate. His wife.

“ _Are you happy?”_

“ _Fucking delirious.”_

 


End file.
